


Waiting is Worse

by citrusella



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: (more characters to be added as I figure out what the heck I'm doing), Angst, Gen, Grief Concerning the Loss of Ability, Major Character Injury, Steven Universe: The Movie, things go differently near the end of the last act
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella
Summary: Is there anything more awful than the feeling of powerlessness?





	1. Inevitable

He stops wallowing in self-pity.

He makes the realization.

He finds the final piece!

Power floods back into him. His shield, his bubble, his floating, his spit!

…Well, if _there's_ not a "bread, milk, eggs, squick" thought.

But it doesn't matter! All his pieces are here! He's back! The future is—

* * *

_Do not freak out. Your powers are not back. You were dreaming. But it's going to be okay._

The message—a reminder of just how many false starts he'd had just in the past three days—printed neatly on cardstock propped on the overbed table grounded him back in the real world before he had even fully awakened.

…Right.

He realized he'd forgotten his power to change. He'd thought that had been the final piece. But nothing had happened after. No rush of power and energy from his gem, no grand display of powers, no epic showdown, at least on his end.

Somehow, he'd managed not to fall to his death.

Somehow, he'd managed to talk Spinel down partway. Somehow, she talked herself down the rest of the way.

Somehow, he'd emerged relatively unscathed from the massive explosion of the injector, despite his lack of powers.

Things were fuzzy, as they were wont to be when you fell multiple stories with nothing but a cartoonish barely-redeemed-for-five-minutes gem wrapped around you for protection like some sort of heavy, soft blanket.

In retrospect, he guessed a broken nose and arm, a concussion, and myriad cuts and bruises only counted as "unscathed" compared to what _could have_ happened.

Spinel cracked. Badly.

He couldn't heal her, not without his powers, so they'd bubbled her. For now.

The biopoison had managed to reach tendrils out far enough to disturb the fountain's plumbing. They were already working on getting it back up and running, but there had been only a small amount of water that hadn't backed up into the system.

There hadn't been enough for two uses, so Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl had made the executive decision to use the water they could get first on Dad's arm, fearing the necrosis issue more urgent. Steven didn't blame them.

…But it hadn't even worked—not like they were hoping, anyway; at best it was a debriding agent, prolonging the inevitable.

Steven didn't want to think about the inevitable.

Steven didn't want to _face_ the inevitable.

He wondered if things would be different if he'd cracked instead, since his gem seemed to be functionally useless at present anyway, but even he couldn't rationalize that cracking anything more than his arm and nose (already 100% more stuff than he'd _ever_ cracked) was _desirable_, even now.

But—Spinel. She hadn't deserved it. No one deserved it, honestly, but after all she'd been through? She definitely didn't.

He couldn't force a happily ever after, he _knew_ that, but couldn't things at least go back to _normal_? No missing powers, no cracked gems, no Beach City falling apart.

The inevitable was scary enough without knowing he was weak… tired…

Powerless.


	2. Incorrigible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven wants to get this discharge over with so he can go help fix the town... but it's not that easy.
> 
> Or: The author had a sudden epiphany about where to take this fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me!
> 
> I don't know if this'll be getting REGULAR updates or anything, but I got a burst of inspiration and was inspired to do some hot-off-the-presses (no sharing with others, minimal revisions (read: a spelling and grammar check)) writing before the end of the night!
> 
> Better than beating my head against a wall trying to write a different fic for the 27th time, right? XD

Steven lightly knocked his head against the wall behind him. Once. Then his persistent headache spiking reminded him that maybe that was a bad idea.

Geez, Dr. Maheswaran sure was taking an awful long time getting the discharge paperwork all ready for Dad.

Four days, four days of observation she kept him here and now he wasn't sure he could handle four more _minutes._

He rubbed at the newly-minted cast in its sling, his right arm encased in yellow all the way to the middle of his bicep. "Heh, I'll be glad when I get this thing off and get outta here, am I right?" He was joking… mostly.

Dad cocked an eyebrow. "Steven, how long do you think broken bones last? I know Dr. Maheswaran said your bones instantly healed before and all that, but I don't think we can rely on that anymore."

They did? Wait. Right. That meeting (one of many) with Dr. Maheswaran. Most of it was fuzzy—most things were, his brain in a perpetual fog since the big explosion—but now that he thought about it, the x-rays with all the old fractures on them _did_ stick out in his mind…

Sigh. Another reminder of his absent powers.

"I… I was mostly joking, Dad. But now that you mention it, I don't think I actually know? Sometimes people broke stuff on _Under the Knife_ but they were only on that one episode and I think I've got too much going on to think about the specifics of a years-old drama plot right now. It's not like I've ever broken a bone—I mean, like, long-term, I guess—so I just—wait, how long do they last?"

"Probably about six weeks, bud. Minimum."

"Ugggghhh," he groaned. "Great, how am I ever gonna help with the rebuilding now?"

Dad blinked. "You're not."

Steven took a few seconds to process, as if his brain needed to buffer its video of Dad's response. "…What?!" A level of contempt downright unusual for the teenage boy came out of his mouth.

"You heard Dr. Maheswaran." As if on cue, she walked through the doorway. "She wants you to rest until some of that concussion stuff eases up, and I'm sure your gem being on the fritz isn't helping," it wasn't, and his current track record said he'd be asleep before the van even got home, but he wouldn't _admit_ that, of course, "and with the arm, and the nose, and all that—"

Impatient, he cut his father short. "I… I have to do _some_thing! I caused this, I have to… fix it, I—"

He turned so he could place his right hand on Steven's shoulder. "You have to take it easy. The rest of us can manage, and you'll be helping us by not having us worry about whether or not you're pushing yourself too hard." He lifted his hand to brush a curl out of his son's irritable, pouting face. "It's for your own good, Schtu-ball."

Dr. Maheswaran handed a clipboard to Greg and added, "I've gotten to know your father, Steven. He does these things because he loves you, you know." She did a casual check of his injuries and vitals as Greg filled out the discharge paperwork. She wasn't sure her argument would sway the teen, but…

_Masterful use of the "because we love you" shutdown! I'm quite partial to the "It's for your own good!" myself._

Sometimes the best you could do was try.

Steven scowled at his feet, arms as crossed as he could get them, and he didn't let up even as he stood and stepped out the door and on his way to the van with Dad.

…The road was going to be longer than Steven wanted it to be, that was for sure.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [You Should've Asked Me, I'm Really Good at Naming Bands (November 2019 Unfinished WIPs)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150771) by [citrusella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrusella/pseuds/citrusella)


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